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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968936">I don't know if I could ever go without</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/devilinmybrain'>devilinmybrain (venomedveins)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Illusions to it, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Oral Sex, Pet Names, lightly - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:22:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,655</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/devilinmybrain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunshine is pouring in through the bedroom window, hazy with early morning and the bitterness that is a December London. It hasn't snowed yet but there is rain in the forecast, dark clouds probably rolling in from the coast later tonight. No one will think to bother them, too caught up in their own quarantine, their own lives. It's the first time in a long time that Louis doesn't have to worry about their phones ringing or someone coming to knock on their door or flight itineraries. Right now, it's all soft and warm, sliding over white sheets and the mess of brown curls next to him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>160</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I don't know if I could ever go without</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's a shit of a year. </p>
<p>There is no getting around that fact, no sort of apology or reconciliation when it comes to 2020. A year meant to be the start of a new and exciting decade has all but turned into a fucking hell. He knows this. He doesn’t live in some rich and famous bubble, though media would have you believe so. He watches the news, can't avoid it on Twitter, is aware of how fucked it all is. But there is a part of Louis, maybe a small, selfish part, that is grateful for it.</p>
<p>It's not about the fans, though they play a big part in his day-to-day decisions. They have to be. He wishes - more than anything - that he had been able to finish his tour. That he had been able to show the world his own stuff – his art, not removed entirely from his legacy in One Direction, but <i>different</i>. This is Louis on his own, bare faced and open. And he wants it but he also can't begrudge this year. Not when it's finally given him this. </p>
<p>Sunshine is pouring in through the bedroom window, hazy with early morning and the bitterness that is a December London. It hasn't snowed yet but there is rain in the forecast, dark clouds probably rolling in from the coast later tonight. No one will think to bother them, too caught up in their own quarantine, their own lives. It's the first time in a long time that Louis doesn't have to worry about their phones ringing or someone coming to knock on their door or flight itineraries. Right now, it's all soft and warm, sliding over white sheets and the mess of brown curls next to him. </p>
<p>Harry is a vision in the morning, curled up on his side, a bare shoulder barely cusping over the edge of the duvet, hinting at the rest of his naked skin. Louis has seen all the versions of Harry that there is to see: Young, bright eyed Harry - still innocent and eager to please. Exhilarating and godlike Harry on a stage, commanding attention from thousands of screaming fans. Quiet, miserable Harry huddled in on himself, knees to chest, asking questions he's afraid to know the answers to. Even furious Harry, when his eyes turn molten and his mouth twists vicious and cruel, rubbed too raw by everything. </p>
<p>This one though, this Harry beside him, is Louis' favorite because it's the version of him that only Louis gets to see. He's still asleep, eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks, mouth soft and full. It's like he's sixteen all over again, all smooth lines and tousled curls, so familiar Louis doesn’t even have to look to be able to trace the rose on his arm. He'd been talking earlier, mumbling about fish and stories, and Louis had just pressed against him harder, had held him closer, and that had settled him down. There is something sacred in it, in knowing all the places that they fit together, how well their pieces just sync.</p>
<p>They've slept in a lot of random places over the years. From tour bus bunks to tiny couches in dressing rooms to hotel beds that smell like bleach, but it's never really mattered. What matters is this, the way they always seek each other out, comfortable to sprawl and cling to one another. The way Louis knows his knees fit perfectly into the back of Harry's, how his arms are meant to be around his waist, his face buried in Harry's neck. </p>
<p>"Hazza." Louis murmurs, can't help but lean forward, presses his lips to the space between Harry's eyebrows. "Wake up."</p>
<p>"Sleeping." Harry's voice is gravelly from sleep and being half pressed into the blankets, a slow drawl to the word. Even after all these years, it still makes Louis' chest flutter, a quick staccato against his ribs. He had thought it would go away over time, and yet it remains.  </p>
<p>"Wake up, baby. Come on." Fingers slide through the curls at Harry's temple, brushing his hair back so Louis can press another kiss to his forehead, just over his right eye. </p>
<p>It takes a moment. Harry's nose scrunches up, fighting against the last dredges of whatever dream he'd been having. Slowly, he blinks his eyes open, glances around the room - window, bureau, and then to Louis. It's that that he gives a tiny smile, just enough to hint at the dimples on his cheeks, entirely too fond for having been pulled from sleep only moments ago. </p>
<p>"There you are." Louis trails his fingers down over Harry's cheek, along the sharp cut of his jaw. He's been letting his hair grow out, the curls teasing just under his ears, and Louis wraps the familiar strand around one finger. "Hey beautiful."</p>
<p>"Good morning." Harry leans into it, nuzzles his face closer on the pillow. "What time is it?" </p>
<p>"Don't know." Louis answers honestly. And that's another blessing - not knowing and not needing to know. It's just them at the house. With nothing on the calendar. "Couldn't sleep anymore though."</p>
<p>"Mmkay." Harry's brain seems to slowly be catching up as he blinks a few more times, trying to push himself up on his elbow. "You want tea? I bought-"</p>
<p>"No, no baby." With quick arms, Louis reaches out, wraps himself against Harry's chest and tugs. It's enough to topple them over, Louis ending up on his back with Harry half on top of him. "Don't get up."</p>
<p>"But-" Harry protests, confused as he readjusts, rests his hand down on Louis' chest and then his chin on top of it. </p>
<p>"Just wanted to see you." Louis explains, brings his hand up to keep touching the curve of Harry's cheek. "Missed you."</p>
<p>"Sap." This time, Harry's grin is wide, self-indulgent and all for Louis. It's his grin - the one only Louis can draw out. "We've been stuck in this house for a week. All you’ve seen is me."</p>
<p>"So? Miss you every time you're not lookin' at me." Louis doesn't feel bad about admitting it. It's the truth, so much so he wrote it down, sang it to millions of people. <i>I'll always need you in front of me.</i></p>
<p>"I'm never not looking at you." Harry leans his head down, kisses over the line of Louis' sternum. "Have been staring at you for ten years now." </p>
<p>"And I've always looked back." Louis admits it, watches the light over the crown of Harry's head as he keeps moving. </p>
<p>He's progressed from soft, sort little pecks to something longer, opened mouth with a bite just below Louis' ribs. It's not enough to leave a mark, but is still the threat of one - teasing in a way that has Louis' cock twitching in his joggers. There was a time when they would be punished for something like this, little breadcrumbs left all over each other, to remind each other what they were working for. Now, no one can yell at Louis for leaving his love all over Harry’s skin, wearing his in return. And this he knows too, knows exactly the way Harry's eyes flash up at him, grinning wide from his place between Louis' legs. </p>
<p>"Haz," Louis exhales slow. There have always been reasons before that they don't have time for this. Handlers or interviews or concerts or some other shit piled up and scheduled out until even fucking breathing felt like an item on an itinerary. Now though, there is nothing. Nothing but time and space to be and be together. </p>
<p>"I want to make you feel good." Harry mumbles, those long fingers sliding up from under the covers, tracing along the ink at Louis' collarbones, knows the words there without having to really look at them. "Let me."</p>
<p>"Fuck." Louis tilts his head back, collapses into the pillows. "This isn't why I woke you up."</p>
<p>"Yes it is." Ruefully, Harry smirks up at him, bite him again. He's not anything but fluent in the inner workings of Louis Tomlinson. </p>
<p>"Not the <i>only</i> reason." Louis admits it because it's true, caught and not feeling guilty for it. He's never passed up an opportunity to get Harry alone before, naked and spread out. "C'mon, c'mere and kiss me first." </p>
<p>Harry is all boyish grins and laughter as he gets his knees under him, scrambles up the bed to press his mouth to Louis'. It's all soft and slow before Louis takes over, hooks a hand across the back of Harry's neck, moves him where he wants. Harry blossoms under the gentle but secure guidance, always trusting Louis to take it further, to make it good. The kiss is better this way, deeper, open mouthed and wet. It's the type that makes Harry blush, all feverish and pink, turned on too fast. </p>
<p>"Louis. Lou." Mumbling between them, Harry slides his leg over Louis' lap, straddles his hips. He's already hard, cock nudging against Louis' through too many layers of fabric.  "Please."</p>
<p>"Yeah? Tell me." </p>
<p>It's not like they have a label for it. It's just the way things have always been - Louis leading, guiding Harry in front of him and Harry eager for it, always looking for Louis. The dynamic has bled over into everything, has been the cornerstone of what makes them work. Because Louis always knows what Harry needs, even before Harry really knows himself. And there is comfort in that, there is safety in being known. </p>
<p>"Wanna taste you." He's started rocking down, grinding his ass along Louis' cock in short little passes that are teasing and sublime, leaving a sticky trail on the fabric. Harry seems eager to move though, restlessly presses kisses along Louis' sharp jaw. "Please. Let me make it good."</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah. Fuck, baby. Whatever you want." Louis' fingers are gentle, so tender when they slip into those curls again, petting over Harry's crown before pushing down. It's more of a suggestion than a command, but Harry moans low in his throat for it.  </p>
<p>He's all warm skin and eager hands as he sinks back down, trails a slow, wet path of kisses from Louis' jaw to his chest, down over his stomach, sucking a bruise just below his navel. It'll be there later, a visual reminder of what Harry's eyes look like when he watches Louis, fingers playing with the waistband of his sweats. He seems to get distracted by it, drops his face down to nuzzle against the fabric where it's tented over Louis cock. </p>
<p>It's torture and heaven at the same time, the pressure a dream as Harry huffs against him, feeling him out. Down here it's just Louis - the smell of his skin, the faint trace of their laundry detergent, and sweat. Harry could drink it all in forever and never get tired of it. It's been so long since he's had rush this, lets the desire settle warm and heavy in his chest as he keeps running his cheek along the ridge from the tip of Louis' cock up to his hip. </p>
<p>"Harry." </p>
<p>Groaning, Louis digs his heels into the bed to try and keep from arching up. He knows he's already leaking, skin feeling feverish, hair on the back of his neck standing up. If he let Harry have his way, he'd take all the time in the world, stay down there and play until Louis is ruined for it. But Louis doesn't want it to end like this, with him coming in his pants after hours of gentle torture. </p>
<p>"Come on, love. I wanna see." He reaches down, digs his fingers into Harry's hair, tugging hard enough it pulls a sharp, whispery moan out of Harry's throat. "Show me."</p>
<p>Harry presses his tongue against where the head of Louis' cock is clearly outlined in the cotton, spit soaking in and making it jump under the heat. He can taste his own precome here where his cock was leaking, already so eager, <i>always so eager</i> for Louis. It's sending lightening down his spine, the rasp in Louis' voice, accent thickening as he guides Harry's head down more. Makes everything go a little hazy behind Harry's eyes, brain fogged up and floating as he hooks his teeth in the elastic across Louis' hips, tugging. </p>
<p>It's not graceful, twisting together to get the fabric down over Louis' thighs, off his calves, to land somewhere on the hardwood off the bed. But then it's just warm skin against warm skin, ink on ink. Harry laves his tongue over the cut of Louis' groin, bites into his thigh just above the secret tattoo there - a tiny cursive H just to the right of his pelvic bone. It's his favorite place to leave a mark - just for them. </p>
<p>Reaching down, Louis wraps a hand around himself, strokes a few times just to take the edge off. He's close enough to Harry's face it's easy to tap his knuckles across his jaw, cock leaving a sticky trail over his cheek. It seems to draw Harry out of whatever spell Louis' thighs seems to have on him, turning enough to slip a wet kiss over the crown. </p>
<p>You'd think after ten years of doing this, that this would be stale, but Louis still has to bite his knuckles every time Harry's mouth moves over him. He's an expert at it now, takes Louis nearly down his throat on the first try, laves his tongue back and forth up the bottom as he pulls back. He's never kind to himself when he sucks Louis' cock, always too eager and too open, takes him deep and keeps him there. Louis can't ever look away, watches the way Harry's eyes water, his nose and cheeks turning rosy. So fucking eager and willing to do whatever - to take whatever he's given. </p>
<p>Louis doesn't push his head down as much as keep a hand firmly in his hair. It helps ground Harry, a secure tether when he loses himself in pumping his head up and down. He's a miracle when he uses his hands too, strokes over Louis' hips and then up onto the base of his cock, twists and then slips down to palm his balls. It's all quick and knowing, perfection when he rubs a knuckle just behind to tease his perineum. </p>
<p>The room is full of the wet sounds of Harry's mouth, drooling and sloppy as he pulls back to kiss over Louis' slit, poking his tongue out to play with it. It's his favorite thing, watching the red of Louis' chest heaving, fingers white knuckling the sheets with one hand, the other on him. Harry could stay down here forever, could play forever, but he knows it won't last. Louis gets too desperate for it, hissing as he slips his hand off their duvet, grips the base of his cock as he sits up. </p>
<p>Harry is still on his hands and knees when Louis kisses him, forces his head back so he can plunge his tongue into Harry's bruised and puffy mouth. He can taste himself there, the salt and acidity of precome, the wet slick of spit left over from Harry's drooling. He never gets over how fucked out Harry gets even from a little cock sucking, how everyone knows just looking at him. </p>
<p>"So pretty, baby. You're so beautiful." Louis grins, leans back to rub his thumb across Harry's cheek. "So good for me." </p>
<p>"Want more." Harry mumbles, bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes are so green, damp around the corners still, and he's staring at Louis in a way that feels so fucking heavy. </p>
<p>"What do you want?" Louis needs to hear him say it. Even after all this time, he needs Harry to ask for it, so say it's okay, that he wants it all.</p>
<p>"Need you inside of me." Rocking his hips down, Harry drags their cocks together in a delicious line, nudged up against their stomachs. It's too dry and too gentle but it's so good at the same time. "Now, Lou, come on." </p>
<p>"Yeah?" Louis leans forward, nips at Harry's bottom lip. "You'll get it, baby. Give you everything you want. Being perfect. Love you so much." </p>
<p>It's what Harry deserves, soft kisses and praise, guiding him up to straddle Louis' lap again. He keeps murmuring to him, keeps his fingers gentle but sure as they side down Harry's chest, over the birds, down to cup over the laurels. They fit under his palms like they were meant to be guides, Louis gripping tight and pulling Harry down against him. He doesn't even know where he wants to start, settles on kissing Harry again, if only to hear his quiet little whine as their cocks brush. </p>
<p>Blindly, Louis reaches back, feels around on the nightstand. He manages to knock his phone off, his watch, and a small pile of change before his fingers wrap around the bottle of lube. There really is no point in putting it away when they're home anyways, always stuck scrambling to find it in the drawer, arguing about whose idea it was to put it away. </p>
<p>"Want it bad, huh?" Louis asks as he pops the cap open, drizzles the liquid over his fingers. It makes the space between them smell like strawberries, sharp and sweet, and Harry's eyes widen with it, chewing on his bottom lip again as he nods quickly. </p>
<p>"Hold still for me." </p>
<p>Flipping his wrist over, Louis reaches back between Harry's legs, nudges his fingertips along his crack and then inside. He's so warm down here, slightly damp with sweat, and Louis can't resist teasing him a little - draws his fingers over his hole, back and forth and then to play with his perineum. </p>
<p>Harry's voice drops the more turned on he gets, moaning low in his chest as he tries to rock back against the pressure. He can't get far, not with Louis' free hand still clamped on his waist, holding him still. In the back of his mind, he knows he could fight it if he really wanted to. Could probably overpower Louis in this position, throw around his own weight, but why would ever want to escape this? </p>
<p>Louis isn't a patient man. He only teases long enough to have Harry shifting, whining a little, before he goes back with intent. The first finger slips in easily, familiar and warm as Harry clenches down. He knows it won't last like this for long, Louis slipping out and then back in, feeling along his walls. It makes everything so much more intense when Harry tilts his head back and meets Louis' eyes, glinting and so fucking blue it's like staring into the Mediterranean. And how can anything be called blue now when all Harry ever sees is Louis' Blue. It's the only one that matters. </p>
<p>One finger becomes two and Louis watches Harry's eyes dilate, his mouth left open in a perfect gasp. He's still tight, gripping down around Louis' knuckles, shifting a little when Louis has to spread them open, scissoring them. He loves this. Gets almost drunk on the flush on Harry's face, the wet slick of him between his legs, the pressure of his body against Louis' fingers when he twists them, teases over the spot he could find by muscle memory alone. </p>
<p>Harry is dizzy with it, breathless and gasping as he tries to rock forward, guide Louis deeper as he nudges his cock against his stomach. It's not enough and it's so fucking good and he feels delirious from it. There is a part of him that gets a coiling, selfish satisfaction knowing that no one else gets to feel what he does, no one else knows what it does to the body when Louis fingers them, plays their body like a well tuned instrument. It's just for Harry, all for him. He wants to sit down on him, wants the burn and stretch of Louis inside of him too fast and too rough. He wants to feel it for days, wants to ache and remember it. </p>
<p>"Fuck!" Harry cries when Louis presses in another finger, three of them playing a staccato over his prostate. He's starting to see stars behind his eyes, could definitely come from the way Louis' clever fingers are playing him. "<i>Louis</i>. Lou. Babe, please. Fuck. I don't wanna wait."</p>
<p>"It's gonna hurt." Louis knows Harry, knows his body, knows what it can take and it's limits. </p>
<p>"Don't care." Drunk and moaning, Harry leans forward into a kiss. He's taller than Louis on his knees like this, uses it to his advantage as he topples them back into the sheets. It shoves Louis' hand up, the base of his fingers and his wedding ring fitting snug against where Harry is open and waiting. "Fuck me."</p>
<p>"Okay, okay." Louis gasps, overwhelmed and reeling from the way Harry reaches down between his own legs, tugs a little on Louis' wrist. "Patience, baby. Want it to be good."</p>
<p>"Always good with you. Always." Harry kisses Louis sweetly, reaches beside them to take up the lube himself. </p>
<p>He doesn't look when he pops it open, smears it messily across Louis' hip, a little on the sheets and then down on his cock. It's sticky and sweet and Harry seems pleased with himself when he wraps a hand around Louis' cock, smearing it over and teasing at the same time. He's an expert at this, jerking in long pulls, twisting up at the head to make Louis' cock twitch, knows just how to touch to get that high pitched whimper. It only earns him Louis' retaliation though, yanking his fingers out to thrust them roughly back in. </p>
<p>They could come like this, eager and little too desperate, but it'd not be enough when they're so close to something more. It's almost torture for Louis to slip his fingers out, listens to Harry's whine of discomfort, dripping and slick as they bat Harry's away from his cock. </p>
<p>Louis has been around the world, has seen amazing things, and nothing is quiet as exquisite as Harry's face when he's sinking onto Louis' cock. It's nearly angelic, mouth gaping open, eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks. He's flushed from his cheeks down onto his chest, rosy and gleaming with sweat as he takes him, sinks further and further down Louis' cock until he can't anymore, fully sat in his lap. </p>
<p>"Oh." </p>
<p>It gets ripped out of him, startlingly deep and loud as Harry's sticky hand braces against Louis' shoulder, leaning down to kiss him. He's panting too hard for it really to be called a kiss, Louis lapping over his lips, against his teeth, feeding off Harry's tiny whines and moans as his body adjusts to it. Inside, he's an inferno, slick and so fucking wet. Everything smells like sweat and skin and strawberries and Louis doesn't understand why they ever stop doing this. </p>
<p>"Mm baby. You feel so fucking good." Louis praises, bites into Harry's bottom lip and tugs. "Take me so fucking well. Made for it, angel." </p>
<p>"God, Lou." Harry can't form a coherent thought, keeps close as he pulls his hips back a few inches, drops down again. "Let me."</p>
<p>He leans back, forces his hands up and onto his own hips, traces over the inked leaves there. Louis can only lay there in awe as Harry's stomach flexes, his abs, his thighs as he raises up again and sinks down. It's not bouncing so much as riding, fluid and sinewy, Harry using his core to keep himself balanced and moving. It frees up Louis' hands, his palms unable to settle as they slide over the ink on Harry's legs, up onto his stomach, higher to twist a nipple. The sharp pain causes Harry to hiss, clean hand slipping into his own hair and tugging. </p>
<p>The pain kink had come as a surprise, discovered back when they were first barely becoming acquainted with one another's bodies. Louis hadn't meant it at the time, had managed to wedge Harry back into a corner, half naked and writhing while fumbled through desperate hand jobs. He hadn't even noticed the zipper on his jacket rubbing long, red lines into Harry's chest until it was all over, the skin hot and welted up from the friction. Harry hadn't been able to articulate it then, had only let Louis press on the wounds and had moaned, too desperate to speak it. </p>
<p>Now though, Louis understands. Knows that pinching is only the cusp of what Harry can handle, gets turned on by the bruises, by the sharp sting of nails in his skin, of Louis holding him down, biting into him. He rewards the perfect way Harry's taking him by digging his nails into the dimples over Harry's ass, by indenting enough he knows there will be bruises there, scratches if he tries harder. </p>
<p>Harry has his head tilted back, pulling his own hair as he rides him. It's taking a lot of concentration to keep the rhythm, swinging his hips just a little with every downstroke, searching for what he wants. It's made easier when Louis plants his heels, when he suddenly thrusts up as Harry moves down, both of them working in tandem. There is something almost magical about the way Louis knows how to twist, how to angle, so with the next time he's nailing Harry's prostate perfectly. </p>
<p>"That what you want, baby? Huh?" Louis rasps, uses his grip to yank Harry down onto him. "Wanna make it good?" </p>
<p>"Yeah, come on. Need you. Love you." Harry rambles. There is sweat dripping down his jaw, gets caught in his throat, over the birds. </p>
<p>Louis wants to taste it, needs him closer, needs everything. He's always getting shit for being the smaller one, the dainty one, but Louis isn't as frail and weak as everyone seems to believe. Reaching up, he wraps his arms around Harry, locks him in tight against his chest, and with one quick twist of his legs - rolls them over. </p>
<p>It's fucking perfect. Harry lands with a soft whoosh against the pillows, his sweat curled and wild hair fanned out as he stares up at Louis with half lidded, hazy eyes. It hasn't even dislodged Louis inside of him, sitting firmly on his knees between Harry's spread thighs, his fingers coaxing and gentle against his waist. The change of angle is so good, gives Louis weight behind him as he leans down, hooks his elbows onto the mattress next to Harry's head and kisses him slow and dirty. </p>
<p>He still tastes like salt, like sweat and precome, and Louis laps it from the roof of his mouth, can taste it when Harry whimpers, his cock dribbling between them. It's only a short break, just a teaser as with a lingering bite, Louis pulls back, strokes his hands all over Harry's chest, down to play with a nipple again. </p>
<p>They've done this enough times that Harry knows what Louis wants, cries out when Louis' nail drags over his chest, lifts one of his legs to rub along his ribs. Louis trails a wet, messy kiss along the side of one of Harry's knees, bites a little hear the hiss, feels himself twitch inside of him. They're working in slow motion, shoving a pillow under Harry's hips then, tilting him up just right as Louis resituates, guides Harry's legs around his waist. </p>
<p>"How do you want it?" Louis asks, licks over his finger and then draws a dizzying circle over the leaking tip of Harry's cock. "Want it slow, baby? Want me to make love to you? Feel so good you can't fucking breathe? Give you something to write all those little songs about?" </p>
<p>"Louis, shit." Harry is panting, the words on a gasp as he writhes against the gentle touch. "Just. Need you."</p>
<p>"Oh." Seeming to realize, Louis lets a self-indulgent grin spread over his face. He can't resist being a little cheeky, clever and cocky even as Harry tightens down on him. "You want me to fuck you? Make it hurt, baby? Make you feel it days after? Push on the bruises when you think no one is watching."</p>
<p>Whimpering, Harry nods desperate, reaches out to drag his hands down Louis' chest. It's all a farce. It's all love making. Harry feels it with every kiss, every touch, every time those blue eyes land on him. </p>
<p>Louis follows it up with one more sweet kiss, pressed in deep and thorough before he pulls back. His hands wrap back on those leaves, thumbs tracing the laurels as he draws all the way out, rests just the tip against him, before thrusting forward. </p>
<p>Their house is so big and so empty and Harry's cry reverberates around the room like a solo concert just for Louis. There is no reason to cover it behind hands, bite it into forearms or biceps, clogged up by sheets or pillows. It echoes around them, repeats over and over as Louis starts up a brutal rhythm. He knows Harry wants it, feels his thighs flexing against his ribs, his head tipped back as he cries out. It's the sweetest symphony - undeniable pleasure.</p>
<p>Sweat is dripping down Louis' spine, the sunshine hot and heavy on him as he rocks forward. It's so fucking good, dizzying and sublime as Harry tightens down on him, clenches as Louis drives into his prostate over and over again. His cock is dipping between them, a steady stream, but when Harry reaches for it, Louis is quick to bat his hand away. </p>
<p>Meeting his gaze, Louis stares at him, purposefully reaching out and pressing his palm into the center of the butterfly - firmly pressing Harry down flat on his back. It's a command, silent and unwavering, as Harry carefully raises his hands up, wraps his fingers in the sheets and doesn't move. Louis hasn't stopped moving through the whole thing, grins wide at Harry follow instructions, rewards him with a tight grip around his cock. </p>
<p>It all bleeds together, turns watery and liquid heat as Louis shuffles forward, nearly folds Harry in half. They're chasing the end, moaning together, nearly harmonized as Louis keeps going, jerks Harry's cock in short, rough twists that has him leaking everywhere. He's so fucking close, choking on it, wanting it but he just needs-</p>
<p>"Come." Louis gasps, chokes out the command in that <i>voice</i>. "Hazza, baby, come for me." </p>
<p>Harry's eyes roll, his hands tugging so hard on the sheets they come untucked in the corners. It's impossible to ignore Louis when he talks like that, the timber of his voice turning liquid and commanding - dominant in a way that has Harry doing whatever he says. Always. He comes hard, sobbing with it as he spasms, coating up over Louis' knuckles, dripping onto his stomach. </p>
<p>Harry's not even sure he's coherent, floating somewhere above them, possible not even in the same dimension. But he knows this. This is muscle memory. He was meant for this, formed perfectly to fill in all the spaces in Louis'. His body turns into a vice, legs tightening around Louis' waist, tugs him forward and down. It doesn't give Louis any room to move, only stuck grinding deep inside of him, down onto his elbows, panting his pleasure into Harry's chest. </p>
<p>It only takes a few more minutes. Louis shouting loud, brittle and high as he locks down onto Harry, bruising with his hips tucked against Harry's ass, biting into his chest - just between the sparrows on his chest. It's going to bruise something vicious, dark and molten, but Harry doesn't even think to care. He's shaking all over, gasping as he feels Louis' cock filling him up, twitching and thick. It's intoxicating, held down as Louis collapses, still buried inside of him.</p>
<p>Blindly, he drags his fingers through Louis' hair, cups the back of his head, listens to his shaky breath. Nothing outside of this fucking bed matters. Harry is convinced. Everything has ceased to exist. It's all just gray fog, an afterthought, when Louis tilts his head enough to blindly press a kiss to Harry's jaw. </p>
<p>Louis can't feel his own fucking fingertips. They're buzzing, sparking as he drags his hands up, ghosts them over Harry's chest. He knows he's heavy, probably squishing him, but Louis doesn't know if he can move. It takes him a long time, suspended moments where he listens to the rapid fire of Harry's heartbeat, his panting turning normal, before he's able to shuffle up - slipping out with a wet sound. He gets a little distracted by watching himself leak out of Harry, just for a moment, watching the shameless way his pink hole clenches down, tries to keep it inside. </p>
<p>Tenderly, Louis leans up, cups Harry's face between his hands, presses a gentle kiss to between his eyebrows. He can feel Harry's eyelashes on his throat, his soft exhale. It used to be easier - back when they were the same height, back before puberty hit both of them - but Louis doesn't let a little height difference get in his way. Harry has been his baby all this time and Louis will continue to treat him so. </p>
<p>"Love you." Louis murmurs, trails his mouth down to kiss over Harry's cheeks, his nose, onto his soft mouth. "So good for me, baby. You're perfect."</p>
<p>"Love you so much." Harry's words are mostly mumbles, nuzzles against Louis' gentle affection. </p>
<p>They end up sharing more slow, syrupy kisses that bleed from one into another, collapsing into the messy sheets. Louis knows they're going to have to get up and shower soon, pry themselves out of the bedroom. Clifford will need walked. Harry has a phone interview sometime in the evening to keep up LA appearances. They have a group call with Liam and Nial too, to hype up Louis'  digital show. But for now, for the first time in a long time, they can lounge together, sticky and naked and sated.</p>
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